


don't try and sleep through the end of the world

by ptrckstmp



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:44:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4649220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptrckstmp/pseuds/ptrckstmp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not leaving. You’re right. And I’d rather die with you right here right now instead of in a couple of days all alone.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't try and sleep through the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a lot of fluffy things lately. Obviously this will not do and I had to write something sad immediately so that balance could be restored to the world.  
> (also not beta'd sorry if it sucks)

Patrick stumbled against the wall of the dirty alleyway and let out a yelp of pain

“Pete,” he gasped, sinking down to the ground, “I think my stitches popped out.” He bit down on his lower lip and and leaned his head back to rest against the bricks of the abandoned building he was leaning against, trying to distract himself from the excruciating pain in his side.

“Oh god. Okay, just hold on.” Pete swung the backpack off his back and dropped down on his knees next to Patrick. He rummaged through it, looking for the needle and dental floss they had used to stitch up the wound before.

Patrick had accquired the gash early that morning, before the sun had even come up. A feral looking girl had decided that she wanted their backpack, and had come at Pete with a knife. Patrick had come to his aid, and they had been able to fend her off, but obviously not without consequences. The end of the world and the resulting anarchy was a lot more dangerous than Pete could have ever imagined. 

Pete found what he was looking for in the pack and lifted up Patrick’s dirty t-shirt to examine the wound. It was red and inflamed and bleeding heavily once again. Pete turned away, trying to swallow his nausea and prepare himself to sink the needle into Patrick’s skin again. There was a reason he was going to school for poli-sci and not anything medical.

“‘m tired Pete.” Patrick mumbled, his eyes drooping closed.

“No, hey, I know.” Pete said frantically, trying to keep him from falling asleep. “I’ll get you all stitched up, and you can have the last swallow of water. We’re not that far from the safe house and then you can sleep for like, a week straight if you want to. I’ll even carry you if you want.” Pete knew it was all a lie, there was no good night’s sleep in their foreseeable future, and they both knew that Pete barely had the energy to carry himself, much less Patrick. But it was easier to lie right now than tell the truth.

Patrick shook his head, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. “S’not what I meant.” He slurred. “Mentally tired.”

Pete cocked his head, waiting for an explanation, even though he was pretty sure he knew exactly what Patrick meant.

“I mean, say, we make it to the safe house. Then what? We still have no food, no water, no weapons, nothing of value to trade for those things, no friends to take pity on us, no family to care if we died.” He pried his eyes open and looked Pete in the face. “What’s the point?”

“So what, you’re just giving up?” Pete asked, but there was no venom in his voice, only calm resignation.

Patrick sighed heavily. “Yeah, I’m giving up.” He shrugged. “You can still make it to the safe house, it will be easier without me to slow you down. Just...give me one more kiss before you leave?” His voice was thick with exhaustion, and laced with desperation.

Pete leaned forward and pressed his lips against Patrick’s. Their lips were both incredibly dry and chapped from severe dehydration (clean water was an incredibly precious commodity), and Pete wasn’t surprised to taste the coppery tang of blood in Patrick’s mouth. Pete pulled away and Patrick closed his eyes again and rested his head back against the wall.

“Good luck, I love you.” He breathed out. Pete shifted so that he was sitting next to Patrick with his back against the wall as well.

“I’m not leaving. You’re right. And I’d rather die with you right here right now instead of in a couple of days all alone.”

Patrick didn’t open his eyes, but his mouth quirked up into a small smile. He shifted his body so that he was pressed up against Pete from shoulder to hip to knee, and rested his head on Pete’s shoulder. Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand and laced their fingers together. 

“I love you too.” He whispered into Patrick’s hair.

It felt weird to just sit there and wait to die. Pete drifted in and out of consciousness for hours. At one point he realized that his shirt was soaked with Patrick’s blood. He could feel Patrick’s breaths becoming more and more shallow, and his skin becoming hotter. When the sun was high up in the sky Patrick started shaking uncontrollably and letting out whimpers of pain, squeezing Pete’s hand a little harder every time a new wave of pain washed through his body.

At one point during the day a man snuck into the alley where they sat. He startled upon seeing them, then pointed a gun and Pete’s head. Pete didn’t move, didn’t speak, just blinked lazily. The man’s gaze flicked to Patrick, who was pale and sweaty and clearly on the verge of death. He snuck towards the backpack that lay abandoned at Pete’s feet, and tucked his gun away, clearly sensing that neither Pete nor Patrick was going to stop him. He slung the bag onto his back. His gaze flickered between Pete and Patrick a few more times, then he closed his eyes, crossed himself, muttered a prayer, and continued on his way.

The sky was turning dark when Patrick finally died. He convulsed as his body struggled to continue to suck in breaths, and then he stilled and went limp against Pete’s side again. A sob escaped Pete’s throat, but there was no water left in his body to give him the ability to cry. He dropped his nose into Patrick’s hair and breathed deeply, trying to get one last whiff of his boyfriend’s scent. All he smelled was dirt.

He didn’t move himself or Patrick’s body, just continued to sit there.

The sun was rising again when he finally let out his last breath.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry  
> pls leave comments?
> 
> also if you have any prompts or anything, leave them below, or on my tumblr (actualpatrickstumph)


End file.
